


Birthday

by angstyelephant



Series: The Knights of Gotham [10]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Cassandra Cain is Black Bat, Constructive Criticism Welcome, Damian Wayne is Robin, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Duke Thomas is Signal, Emotional Constipation, Good Grandparent Alfred Pennyworth, Happy Birthday Jason Todd, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Jason Todd-centric, Mentioned Kate Kane, Not Canon Compliant, Not beta read we die like robins, Some Humor, Stephanie Brown is Spoiler, Tim Drake is Red Robin, at this point nothing is canon and everything is canon good fucking luck, literally yall, some strong language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:22:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25943533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angstyelephant/pseuds/angstyelephant
Summary: In which the Bats celebrate Jason Todd's birthday.
Relationships: Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Duke Thomas & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd & Everyone
Series: The Knights of Gotham [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/614036
Comments: 7
Kudos: 90
Collections: the batman family





	Birthday

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday to our favorite thicc zombie man, who is I think younger than I am now. I can't tell, I remember when I was closest in age to Steph and Tim and now suddenly I'm creeping up to Dick's age, how old are these people again-
> 
> Referenced: Referenced: Titans (TV Series), Under the Red Hood, Batman: Arkham Knight (vaguely), A Lonely Place of Dying, Robin Rises, War Games, Red Hood and the Outlaws vol 1 #3  
> Nothing is ever canon compliant in this series, this should be extremely obvious by now and if it is not, iono what to tell you. 
> 
> Constructive criticism is always appreciated.

Jason sighed, unlocking the door to his safe house and balancing the helmet under his arm. He opened the door, walked in, and kicked it shut. His shoulders slumped, back rounded, head falling forward. Jason sighed, lifting his arms to take off the domino and rub his face. The helmet fell to the ground, rolling away before thudding against something hard. He ignored it: it was probably the coffee table.

Jason stretched his tired, aching limbs out, feeling various joints crack slightly and muscles tense and relax. He scratched the back of his neck as he went towards the light, deciding on a nice, hot shower and a long nap.

He had been up for nearly a week, sleeping for little power naps every now and then. He’d been working a rather tricky case, human traffickers taking any kid from anywhere and moving their hideouts to keep the scent off their operations. Jason kept running into dead ends every time he raided a hideout. Eventually, _with the assistance of one replacement that he most certainly did not ask for_ , he managed to raid their headquarters and kill the operation at its source.

It was nearing dawn and Jason intended to sleep for a week to make up for the time.

But fate seemed to have other plans for him, because when he turned on the light, he saw the Bats gathered, making the already small flat look incredibly packed. The Robins Red, baby, and Spoiler, were sitting on his bed, _Spoiler’s dirty ass boots making his freshly washed sheets all messy._ Black Bat and Signal were holding five objects each, neatly wrapped in Batfamily-themed wrapping paper because _why the hell not_. Nightwing was smiling like a fool, holding a cake in one hand and a pack of candles and _his own fucking lighter_ in the other. Even the big bad Bat was hidden in the shadows of his apartment, Jason’s helmet in his hands and what he called “Bruce’s smile that wasn’t a smile because he’s an emotionally-stunted wankstain” on his cowled face. His helmet must have hit the titanium plating on Bruce’s boots earlier.

“Happy birthday, Jason!” Dick said, raising his arms. Jason barely flinched when the cake teetered on Dick’s palm. The first Robin’s reflexes were fast enough to rebalance the cake and not make an absolute mess on Jason’s clean floor.

“Which one,” Jason deadpanned, his exhaustion present in his voice, “my ‘birth’ day or my ‘dip-in-the-pit’ day?” Dick scowled, making Jason smiled a little bit.

“Just shut up and get over here.”

Jason obliged, thinking the faster he dealt with this, the faster the family would get the hell out of his _what was once but no longer_ safe house and let him sleep.

Dick put the cake on the table, taking the candles out and using his lighter to light them. When Jason crouched down to blow them out, he saw what was written on it. _Happy Birthday, Little Wing_ in bright red. Not the red of his Hood, but the red of his old Robin suit: a rose rather than a crimson. It was a subtle effect, but one that Jason knew was on purpose. Nothing got past the Bats without them knowing about it, and nothing was coincidental in their world.

Jason hesitated for a bit, smelling the vanilla in the cake and remembering the honey vanilla genoise cake Alfred used to make years ago. The one Jason really liked. He felt two fingers poking his cheek, one black and one blue, and seven pairs of eyes on him, prodding him to blow out the candles. He obliged, hearing a few cheers and seeing smiles on the younger ones' faces. He fought off his own smile, ignoring the warmth in his chest.

Jason stood up, stretching out his limbs again. “Alright, get a slice and get out.”

“Not until you open these!” Duke said, motioning to the gifts still in his hands.

Jason looked down, weighing out his options. On one hand, staying on the Bats’ collective good side was useful to him. He appreciated still having access to the Cave, his old passcodes still _chilidogs_. He also, albeit begrudgingly, appreciated the physical help from various members and the tech help from Red Robin and Oracle.

On the other hand, keeping them any closer than ten feet and without at least six mines in-between them made him uneasy. He would never admit it, but he missed them. Even Bruce, the absolute bastard. He missed the warmth he always felt in his chest and the easy laughs he enjoyed. He missed the affection and the smiles and the conversation. Keeping them close would make missing them and still loving them outside of a sense of duty to the Bat identity to protect would make him lose his mind. Again.

On a third hypothetical hand, right in the middle of the two, Jason realized that staying on their good side meant coming to terms with his feelings, and as much as he hated to admit it, he was just as emotionally-stunted as Bruce.

He wanted to call Bruce a psychopath, unemotional and unremorseful at, by Dick’s own words, weaponizing their childhoods to join his crusade. He wanted to punch Dick in his pretty face, for antagonizing him before his death without reason. He wanted to kill Tim, for taking the Robin mantle from him so quickly, and kick Duke, for being so determined on keeping the shattered bits of the Family together. He wanted to hug Steph because he knew what it was like to feel abandoned by the Bat. He wanted to yell at Cass for being so steadfast in her support for the monster who started this, and throw Damian off a roof since he was the only one who actively received everyone’s love because _he’s young and impressionable and had a rough upbringing_. He wanted to smash all of Babs’ tech because he just couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t support him when the creature that killed him and paralyzed her was still breathing while Bruce just stood by and did nothing.

But he couldn’t, because none of it would be true. He hated Bruce, sure, but only because Bruce let Jason go. The man he thought of as a father let someone take his son from him with no repercussions, and yet, when his _blood_ son was killed, he went into hell itself to find him.

Sure, Jason joined the mission, but that was besides the point.

He understood why Dick antagonized him, why Tim was given the mantle. He sympathized with Cass and Babs’, Steph did too, and acknowledged Damian’s situation because _if Catherine and Willis were a storm, Talia was a fucking apocalypse._ He understood Duke’s desire to be a part of the family, his drive to their mission, and sympathized because _fuck, Joker killed my mom too_.

But he couldn’t admit any of that, lest lose his excuse for being so standoffish. As a result, he shrugged, acknowledging his request and sitting down on the floor, his back against the bed in the corner. Dick sat down on the couch. Bruce, ever so subtle, stayed in his dark corner, trying and dramatically failing to stay out of the way. Duke put the gifts on the coffee table and joined Dick, while Cass stalked off to find a food-specific knife and something to serve on.

“This one’s from Alf,” Duke said, pointing to the one closest to Jason. He took it in his hands, feeling the weight of it. He took off the wrapping paper with little bats on it, not wanting to make much of a mess, laughing at what was inside.

“ _From Crook to Cook_ , really?” Tim asked, looking over him.

“Inside joke. Cute, I think.” He put the book next to him.

“Whatever,” Dick said, throwing a little box with blue birds on it to him. “Open mine.” Jason took the lid off, sighing and blinking a few times when he saw the Nightwing-themed child’s watch. Jason looked up, his face stoic compared to Dick’s shit-eating grin.

“You’re always late, so a reminder,” he said, smiling and settling into the couch, full well knowing Jason wouldn’t be able to say anything or else spill their bonding secret to the others.

“Late to what?” Damian asked, concerned. Jason waved a hand, flipping a giggly Dick off and throwing the watch back on his bed, narrowly missing Tim.

Duke handed him a third and fourth gift. “Babs, and this one’s from Kate.” Jason opened the gift from Babs, seeing a new commlink set, to make up for the one he broke this week. It had earpieces adjusted for his helmet, as well as normal in-ears to wear without his helmet and a new gauntlet computer to replace his older one. There were a few more items, things Jason would need to ask Babs about that would force him to actually call her or visit her at the Clocktower like she asked.

The gift from Kate was very appreciated because it combined their joint love at pissing off the Batman in any way.

“Nice, new holsters. Quality leather, thank Katie for me.” Dick nodded, accepting his request.

“This one’s from Damian,” Duke said. Cass returned with what certainly was not a food-specific knife but Jason knew was clean and sanitized for food and several bowls and forks. She sat down as Jason opened the gift, citing slices and handing them to each person.

Jason picked up the lightweight dagger, the silver of the blade and the golden hilt shining in the light. He flipped it in his hand a few times, getting a feel for it.

“Thanks, kid. This is really nice, actually.”

“Of course it is,” Damian said, his nose turned up and his chest puffed out slightly out of pride. “I selected it from my own personal collection.”

Jason looked at Dick with a subtle glance. _Personal collection?_ Dick discretely shook his head once, _don’t ask_.

Cass handed Jason a box, a bowl of honey vanilla genoise placed on top. Jason thanked her, setting the bowl aside on the cookbook and opening the lid to reveal a Red Hood plush. Jason thanked her again, putting the handmade toy, with scarily accurate detailing, on his lap, patting its head.

“How come he got a plush and I got a pillow?” Dick said, moping into his cake. Cass shrugged, handing Bruce a slice.

“Do mine,” Tim said.

“Is it gonna kill me?”

“Not a second time, relax.”

“Am I gonna kill you?”

“Maybe.” Jason nodded, grabbing it. The weight of the long box made him falter. He knew exactly what weighed that much, and he knew exactly how he was going to murder the replacement. Opening the lid simply confirmed it.

“I know exactly where you sleep, replacement, and I,” Jason took the bow-wrapped crowbar in his hand to further his point, “am going to shove this so far up your ass, all you’ll taste is metal.”

“Jokes on you, man. I barely sleep.”

“Fuck you.” Tim threw him a finger heart, leaning back against his pillows. Jason shook his head, fighting a small smile. He couldn’t believe that the same kid he tried to kill once was now comfortable with macabre jokes.

“I got you a gift card to that bookstore you really like in Central,” Steph said as Jason thumbed two small envelopes.

“And I got you a two-day voucher for that history museum in Metropolis, the one with the new _Literature of the Actual World_ exhibit. You can redeem it for whenever you want,” Duke said.

“Thanks, you two. Seriously,” he said genuinely. The old _I’d major in Literature and maybe History_ Jason was bubbling inside him.

The present, tangible Jason, however, felt his stomach lurch and the few bites of cake he had eaten threaten to come up. Silence filled the apartment as he stared at a flat gift from Bruce, who couldn’t meet his eyes. Swallowing and exhaling, Jason reached for it, hands shaking slightly. Unwrapping the gift, he saw a packaging of _The Princess Bride_. He kept staring at it, trying to figure out the significance of the movie because _Bruce be damned if he wasn’t a dramatic bitch_.

For the life of him, Jason couldn’t figure out why Bruce would give him a DVD of _The Princess Bride_ , and opted to simply thank him. When he did, Jason could see the heartbreak on his face, feeling nauseous when he realized the movie was actually very significant and _he couldn’t fucking remember why_.

“Alright,” Dick said, sensing the tension and diffusing it. “Let Jason get some sleep, and Damian, you need to get to school.” He ushered everyone out the window, saluting Jason before following them. Jason waved off the birthday wishes and stared at Bruce, who didn’t move.

Jason imagined launching himself at Bruce, hugging him because the movie was probably very meaningful but also punching him because he didn’t know why it was meaningful. But instead he sat there, looking up at the very tall man decked in black and grey. It felt like hours passed by as Jason stared up at him and Bruce looked at the discarded wrapping paper.

He stood up, letting the plush toy fall to the ground. He gripped the DVD until his knuckles turned white. Every fiber in Jason’s body told him to stop, to not say the next words.

Jason never listened to anyone, and that included himself.

“Why?” Bruce looked up at Jason’s question, his eyes visible slightly behind the white lenses of the cowl. “Why this?”

“You don’t remember.”

“Clearly.”

“The pit didn’t wipe your memories.”

“Obviously,” Jason confirmed, acknowledging the fact that his resurrection didn’t mean that his memories had faded. If anything, the old memories were more vivid and present in his mind than new ones.

“You don’t remember.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, old man.”

Bruce sighed, looking at the window. Both of them were sorely uncomfortable with the situation. Jason wanted nothing more than for Bruce to leave through the window, and Bruce wanted nothing more than to do exactly that. But something, _something_ stopped them, kept them glued to their spots, anxious and waiting.

“You,” Bruce said, refusing to look at him, “were sick one night. The flu. I benched you, then took a night off myself. We watched this movie that night, you fell asleep before we finished it.”

Jason wished he had his domino or his helmet on, anything to hide his face. Why didn’t he remember this? He’d remember this, something like that would be his—and it suddenly dawned on him. Jason swallowed, scratching his jaw and holding the DVD against the front of his thigh.

“I, uh…it was probably something that got taken from me during the mission against the Untitled,” Jason said, not going into detail. Bruce nodded, moving towards the window quickly.

“Happy birthday, Jason. Get some sleep.” Bruce fled from the window and making sure to close it, making Jason’s chest loosen and his stomach settle. He ran a hand through his hair and put all the gifts and abandoned bowls on the table, opting to deal with it later. He flopped on his bed, rolling to his back, not realizing he still had the DVD in his hand as he started falling asleep.

He sincerely hated his family, but damn him if he didn’t love them just as much.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to mention here that I'll be keeping the characterization of Duke from "Welcome to the Family" for the remainder of the collection. User Dotty explained his situation really well, but for the arc I'm creating by the seat of my pants, I need to kill his parents. If Dotty is reading this, hi I love you I'm sorry for killing his parents you'll see why and hopefully it'll work out maybe iono.
> 
> Also, y'all, don't come at me RHatO #3 is vague enough at the end and Princess Bride is actually a good movie and also old enough to be on nighttime telly. 
> 
> Constructive criticism is always appreciated.


End file.
